


E-NOUGH !!

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dom John, Dom/sub, First Time, M/M, Sub Sherlock, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-13 22:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Does John Watson have a limit? Sherlock finds out.





	E-NOUGH !!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/gifts).



> John puts up with a great deal from his flatmate. One day he has finally had it. The results are unexpected, and ultimately, changes both men forever.

"John dear." Mrs. Hudson's voice quivered as if the beloved landlady/not your housekeeper was near tears.

 

The Doctor paused on the first step up to 221B and executed a precise military about face. Shoulders sagging, jaw set in rigid determination, he sighed, "What's he done?"

 

Misty eyes wide with surprise, Hudders took a deep breath. "But, I didn't say that Sherlock, that he.... How did you know?"

 

Pulling her into a gentle hug, John comforted, "Mrs. Hudson, I know you are made of stern stuff. Only Sherlock could make you nearly cry. Now again, what has he done?"

 

"Generally speaking, everything. Breaking things, stomping around, torturing that poor violin and my ears with the most horrendous screeching, the entire lot. Thankfully at least, he hasn't yet..." 

 

The sound of a loud gunshot echoed down the stairs followed by several more, making John instinctively reach to his waistband, for a moment forgetting he didn't carry his weapon to the clinic. "What the bloody hell is he playing at?"

 

"Oh John just please make him stop. I'm off to my sister's for a few days, and I'd like to think the building will still be here when I get back."

 

"You go enjoy your visit, I'll handle things here, promise. Don't worry, peace WILL be restored. Have a good time."

 

"Thank you John, I've left my fridge and pantry filled with some nibbles and dinners for you both. Can't have my boys suffer while I'm gone."

 

"There might be suffering Hudders, but I won't be doing any of it."

 

After helping her take her luggage to the cab, John waved good-bye, and wondered, not for the first time, if Mike Stamford had done him a favor or a disservice by introducing him to The World's Only Consulting Detective.

 

Taking a minute to tamp down his rising aggrevation, John thought he might be well served by a short walk, that was until another loud bang rent the air. Not a gunshot this time, but still an earth shattering crash. Nothing for it then, he took the stairs two at a time.

 

Bursting through the door he shouted, "What the bloody hell are you doing you maniac?" Receiving no answer, in fact no clue that his arrival had even been noticed, John surveyed the carnage. The kitchen lino was littered with broken glass and globs of goo which John could only hope weren't toxic, three fresh bullet holes in the sitting room wall, and lastly, the source of the crash. The large bookcase next to the hearth, had been overturned spilling it's contents on the floor. Complete chaos.

 

"I repeat, Sherlock, WHAT are you doing?"

 

"Oh you're here, when did you come back?", Sherlock drawled whilst kicking various volumes across the carpet.

 

Feeling his temper ratchet up, John held his voice in check. "Never mind that, and stop kicking things. Some of those are my medical books."

 

"I'm aware. That's why I'm tossing them to the side. They're only in the way. Why don't you make yourself useful and make some tea. There's a good man."

 

"Tea? How am I to navigate the minefield you've made of our kitchen? Plus you've shot the wall again, and don't you dare tell me the wall had it coming."

 

Sniffing in a silent dismissal, Sherlock replied sarcastically, "Don't be absurd John. You faced real mines in Afghanistan, surely a bit of glass and chemicals won't deter you. As for the wall, you challenged my ability to shoot straight the other day. Just proving a point."

 

"That point would be?"

 

"One doesn't need to be a soldier boy to be proficient with a firearm. Simple."

 

"A soldier boy Sherlock, really? That's all you've got?"

 

"Would you prefer Captain, Fusillier, or perhaps mercenary?"

 

"Sherlock, I don't appreciate your taking the piss about my military service. Are we understood?"

 

Ignoring John completely, the younger man dropped to his knees with a shout of triumph. "Ah, finally. A comprehensive study of the effects of long term mold exposure."

 

John bristled, "Tell me that's not mold in our kitchen where some of us eat. Sherlock are you even listening to me?"

 

"Obviously not. I have important things to do."

 

"Oh sod this." That was the moment John had had "Enough, just E-NOUGH!!" He strode over to where Sherlock was making to get to his feet. Placing firm hands on bony shoulders, John forced him back down. "I don't think so, deduction boy."

 

Sherlock gaped at his blogger, "John I'm trying to get up."

 

"Figured that out for myself genius, and I'm saying no. About time someone said no to you, so I'm doing it. Now I'm going to my room for a bit and when I come back you WILL be right here on your knees just as I left you."

 

"And if I'm not?" John could see the defiance in those startling eyes, but also the curiosity mixed with a nervous excitement.

 

"If you're not, you will be one very sorry little boy. STAY!"

 

Sherlock silently glared at his friend's retreat filled with both irritation and an underlying heat bubbling just under his skin. "Do your worst, Doctor", he thought, "The Game is on."

***~~~***

This was not going to plan. It wasn't all that uncomfortable kneeling, but the boredom was crushing. John knew he would be bored, "Damn him", Sherlock spat.

 

At that moment, John came back in camo fatigues and boots, his dog tags secured around his tanned neck. "Still here I see, wise choice, Holmes. Stand up."

 

"Ta, but I'm quite content right here, John."

 

"That's ta SIR, and I said stand up." Rather than shouting, John's tone held a quiet menace that set Sherlock's heart and pulse racing. Slowly, he stood.

 

"Good boy. Firstly, you are going to put the bookcase upright and restock the shelves, properly. Then you're cleaning that floor, spotless. I had best not see one splinter of glass or trace of whatever that is anywhere."

 

"While you do what exactly, Sir?", he sneered.

 

"What we soldier boys do best, give orders. Move!"

 

Pouting, yet still fascinated at the turn of events, Sherlock made quick work of "library duty". "Of course," John mused, "that mind palace would have a complete memory of where the books should go." Well fine, less time spent on menial labor, the more time for other plans.

 

The lino proved more challenging, involving a row over Sherlock protecting his eyes and lungs against spores. John 1, Sherlock 0. Along with a scrap over gloves, which resulted in Sherlock winning the battle but losing the war when a piece of glass stabbed his thumb.

 

After tsking as he removed the shard and cleaned the small cut, John resisted the temptation to say "I told you so". John 2, Sherlock 0.

 

"Satisfied Sir?"

 

"With your work Sherlock, yes, your attitude, not so much. Come back over here."

 

Sherlock sauntered to the front of John's chair, his expression one of distain. "Well, am I to guess at your next order?"

 

"What, you can't observe, fancy that." John stretched his legs out, and, for the first time, Sherlock noted that, strangely, the doctor was wearing not his brown leather boots, but the patent black. Not even looking at the younger man, he snapped, "Kneel."

 

Almost against his will, almost, he did. Just as quickly, however, he recovered. "Here is where you order me to lick your boots, I suppose."

 

John snorted loudly. "Like the idea of that do you little boy? Then definitely not. You're going to polish them until you can see yourself in the toes. I want you to see just how pretty you look blushing like a virgin. Oh that's right, you are."

 

Sherlock could feel the color rising all over his body and looked away. "How am I to..."

 

"My shine kit is alongside the chair. Off you go."

 

It took a bit of time and effort. Worse yet was the ridiculous feeling of pride Sherlock experienced when John proclaimed the shine a job well done. "Are we finished here, Sir?"

 

"In here yes, elsewhere no. Your bedroom." 

 

Sherlock audibly gulped, "My bed...room."

 

"Now!" Behind Sherlock's back, John grinned at the clear confusion and discomfort the lanky git was feeling. Once in the room, the older man wasted no time. "Strip!" Sherlock froze, then slowly began to remove his dressing gown. "Don't be dense little boy. Strip the duvet and sheets, you're going to learn the correct way to make a bed. Get to it!"

 

Sweating, swearing and struggling, Sherlock couldn't believe it was nearly a half hour before the Captain judged the bed acceptable. "Well done Sherlock. You ARE capable of learning. I knew it. As a reward to me, go shower. You reek."

 

Indignantly, the detective tossed his disheveled curls wildly. "I break my back all afternoon and MY reward is 'you reek'? What the fuck is that?"

 

Patting a pale cheek as if Sherlock were three, John smirked, "What DO you want then, Lockie, a kiss? Shower!"

 

By all rights, Sherlock knew he should stay in the loo until John was forced to come after him. Instead, he found himself almost rushing through the shower in his eagerness to continue The Game, even if he had to admit he had no idea what THIS game actually was.

***~~~***

Emerging freshly scrubbed and smelling of his posh bodywash and shampoo, Sherlock was both thrilled and timid to see John sitting on the bed. "Come here, time for your punishment."

 

"My punish... what I've already done isn't enough?" 

 

John shook his head, "For everything but taking MY gun and shooting the wall, again." Noting the reticence in the verdigris orbs, John's tone softened, "You can say no Sherlock, but you deserve it, and I hope you know I would never REALLY seriously hurt you."

 

Sherlock nodded, "I know Sir. I have rather misbehaved."

 

This time John openly laughed, "Misbehaved. So that's what they're calling it now. Let's do this. Dressing gown off, good. Now over my knee."

 

"You intend, you mean to...Yes Sir." 

 

John felt his heart melt as Sherlock submitted to his order. As his boy awkwardly complied, John soothed him. "I'm very proud of you love, I know that was hard. You'll be getting twenty with my hand."

 

"Twenty? Isn't that... Yes Sir."

 

The first ten were definitely meant to impress a lesson, fast and hard. Then Sherlock was puzzled as the strength and desired intent suddenly changed. The spanks were still sharp, but imparted an entirely different feel. John seemed to be encouraging his little boy to rut on his strong thighs. By the final smack, Sherlock was panting and quite clearly aroused.

 

Fighting to avoid swaying as John helped him upright, Sherlock stammered, "That was...ah, my apologies Captain."

 

"Apology accepted little boy. Strip!"

 

"John, the bed hasn't been that disturbed."

 

John grinned, "But I'd like it to be. So, if you want love, strip."

 

Light dawned like a supernova. "Me. You want ME to strip. I can definitely do that, unless you'd rather Sir." 

 

"Cheeky brat! Just for that, I will." Sherlock couldn't stop trembling as his armor was pealed away. Standing nude, eyes downcast and chest heaving, he nearly sobbed when John gently caressed his face. "You are the most ethereally beautiful creature I have ever seen. May I kiss you?"

 

"Anything, anything you want John, ah Sir."

 

"No more Sir, sweetheart. It's just us, Sherlock and John, now and I hope forever." John claimed the Cupid bow lips in a passionate kiss leaving them both breathless. Then he sat to remove his boots.

 

Sherlock went to his knees, "Permission to remove them for you, Sir, please." John simply raised one foot then the other as Sherlock first kissed and then pulled off the boots. "Permission to continue, Sir."

 

"Proceed little boy, my pleasure."

***~~~***

 

In the end, the bed was the only casualty. Stained, wet, ripe and with clear evidence of multiple maneuvers, the linens had surrendered their military corners, and waved a flag of surrender.

 

Sherlock snuggled into John's side and giggled, "I'm not entirely sure your lesson discourages bad behavior Captain. In fact..."

 

"In fact you wanker, I'd advise you to remember punishment can be either pleasant or painful." It was said earnestly but without heat.

 

"Not likely to forget, Captain. You have a firm hand." He kissed the callused palm and smiled.

 

John grabbed the long fingers and pulled, "We need a shower, but first one more thing." Unashamed, they walked nude into sitting room, John detouring to the kitchen and coming out with an aerosol can.

 

Going to the wall, he used the familiar yellow spray to paint a heart around the newest "ventilations" adding JW + SH inside.

 

Sherlock sniffed back a tear. "That's brilliant John. I can experiment with an entire array of bullet patterns and we can have an art gallery."

 

Turning Sherlock around and planting a smack to his arse, John cautioned, "Shower, you juvenile delinquent. You're going to be too busy taking orders to bother with firearms training. As for any more portraits, we have more than enough."

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just have to put your foot, ah boot, down. 
> 
> For ChrisCalledMeSweetie, who taught me the mechanics of how unicorns fart rainbows.
> 
> ** Be sure to scroll down the comments to see the clever art "Sweetie" posted for this work. She's a star!


End file.
